


So You Grew Flowers Where Destruction Once Lay ("A Way to Pass the Time" You Lied, For I Saw You Smile)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Series: Xenoblade Ship Week 2020 [6]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Gardens & Gardening, Married Couple, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reyn just loves Sharla so much, Sharla has PTSD, Slice of Life, Soft Reyn, Soft Sharla, Spoilers, They both love each other very much okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: She comes home one day to the sight of Reyn, crutches shoved precariously under his armpits, wrangling with a leaky watering can and a bag of seeds.He smiles at her, a streak of dirt on his cheeks and his eyes crinkled at the edges.Written for Xenoblade Ship Week 2020.Prompt: Garden/Underwater
Relationships: Reyn/Sharla (Xenoblade Chronicles)
Series: Xenoblade Ship Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781698
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	So You Grew Flowers Where Destruction Once Lay ("A Way to Pass the Time" You Lied, For I Saw You Smile)

**Author's Note:**

> this,,,,,, was a challenge to complete on time. Hopefully it's okay. It could probably do with a bit of work but I ran outta time so here you all go,,, to the,,, uhh, like,,, one other person out there who ships sharla and reyn,,,,, hope ur happy with this x

It is on no important mission when Reyn is injured.

On paper, it had been standard. A reclamation of land lost to the shifting of the new world. Reyn, now a colonel, had been the head of the operation. All that had needed to be done was maintenance, a clearing of any fallen debris and a quick scout to ensure there were no dangerous monsters laying in wait. Had the mission gone successfully, the land there was fertile enough that it could be used for farmland. With its vast plains surrounding the area, it was the perfect place for a decent-sized farming settlement; something which - as the population of a post-war world was steadily beginning to increase - would offer valuable homeland to the next generations of the new world.

Sharla did not go with him. A healer is useless on such a mission. At most, any injuries will be surface level and even Reyn has enough understanding of ether to heal basic cuts and bruises, and even if he  _ didn't, _ those injuries wouldn't be life-threatening. Besides, Sharla didn't feel the need to go  _ everywhere _ with Reyn. She had other things to do, her own work to complete back at the Colony. She was an established medic now, the most sought out healer in the entire colony - something which she took great pride in. When she wasn't helping invalids as much as she possibly could, she had a whole hoard of up-and-coming medics who needed shaping up. It was a pleasant rarity when her and Reyn would be able to go out into the field together; but that was all it was - a rarity. 

But still, she had kissed him goodbye, placed her lips against his knuckles in fond farewell, barely grazing by the silver band on his finger. He had smiled at her, in that crooked way of his, and scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair. Even after all these years, he remained bashful around Sharla, as though he wasn't quite sure how he ended up here, with her. She isn't sure sometimes, too. She thinks this life is all too perfect, Reyn is all too sweet, for it to be real. On occasion, part of her believes she will wake up one day and be transported nine years into the past; back into those uncertain days in the Refugee Camp, when hope was all that kept her going. 

It does mean they're less likely to take what they have for granted, however, and Sharla thanks the world for each and every day she gets to spend with Reyn, whether it's by his side or far away. 

She knows all too well what it is like to lose someone you love. Someone who you were prepared to devote your life to, and them to you also. She knows what heartbreak feels like, the hopelessness of realising they will never be coming back; that never again will they be stood by your side. She knows what all of that is like. She is all too aware of how happiness can be fleeting, of how you can feel a joy like no other one day and have it all torn away from you in the next. 

She can't help being a bit of a worrier, especially when it comes to Reyn. He's… He's too brash for his own good. Not that Sharla would change a thing about him, but she wishes he'd look after himself a bit better. 

It lingers with her, the memories of her past. The loss of hope, the loss of that spark of light. She loves Reyn with all her heart, but she has never stopped loving Gadolt. She has gone on living, found her happiness once more, but while her pain is not physical; while it has left no marks, it has scarred in a place that cannot be seen. There is always a piece of her, always a lingering thought in her mind, that tells her that one day this too will be taken from her. That one day she will wake up and the Mechon will be back, that Reyn will be gone and history will repeat itself once more.

But Reyn never seems bothered when Sharla wakes him up in the dead of the night, hands shaking and eyes tearful, her head hanging above his. "I thought-" she will say, voice raw and broken, "I thought you were dead. Or- you, you weren't breathing, and I had to make sure- I had to make sure…" And every time Reyn will smile at her in that soft sort of way, the sad sort of smile that you give when you know you can't take away the pain, you know you can't make it all better, but that sort of smile that also says 'I'm here, always. No matter what'. He understands her in a way she thought nobody ever could, not again.

Truthfully, she thought that Gadolt had been her only chance, the only love she would ever have, and she thought that she had lost that. Lost the opportunity for bliss until the very end of her days. She did not think, after his disappearance, that she would ever be lucky enough to find someone again. She thought that was it, that was her once chance and now it had gone forever. But, more than that, she had believed that she did not  _ deserve  _ anyone else.  _ She _ had left Gadolt,  _ she _ had lost him, and her isolation would be the proof of that, her loss an ugly scar that would forever remind her that it was  _ her _ fault he was gone.

But then Reyn had been there, crooked smile and crinkled eyes. Hair like fire and eyes warm and sweet. Solid like the very roots of the trees, yet wild and exciting like the unpredictable heat of fire. He had barged into her life like a whirlwind, a dazzling display of wildfire, and upturned her life by its very roots. He had seen her guilt, seen her doubts, seen her loneliness, and he had convinced her that it was  _ not _ her fault. That she deserved happiness once more, that she was not too damaged, not too broken, to love again. 

He'd never expected her to forget Gadolt, not once. In fact, when they'd first started dating, he'd told her that he'd probably never live up to Gadolt.  _ I won't ever be as good of a guy as him,  _ he'd said to her.  _ But I- I want to make you happy, for as long as you want me here.  _ She'd called him an idiot then, looked up at him as she took his hands in her own.  _ You won't ever replace Gadolt, _ she'd told him.  _ I don't want you to. You're Reyn, not Gadolt. Gadolt is gone, Gadolt is dead, and you won't ever be him.  _ He'd looked away then, fidgeted on his feet and Sharla could feel an apology coming before he'd even opened his mouth.  _ I don't want another Gadolt. I want you, Reyn.  _

She'd never looked back since that day. They'd started dating, just over five years ago from now, and she didn't regret a moment of it. Reyn would never replace Gadolt because there was  _ nothing _ to replace. Reyn is somebody different, but someone who she loves just as much. He is  _ here _ and he is alive and he makes Sharla laugh harder than she has done in years, and that is all she has ever wanted.

There was never any boredom around Reyn, and although she now knows Reyn like the back of her own hand; with each passing day he still finds ways to surprise her. She learns about him, and when she thinks she has learned everything there is always something else. She learns the simple things; like his favourite colour is orange and he's terrified of needles. She learns that he takes his coffee with lots of milk, no sugar. She learns that he needs to wear glasses, although he refuses to, and she learns that he loves cats, although he is allergic to them. She also teaches him things about himself, like the fact that there's a  _ reason _ his struggles to keep his attention focused on just one thing, and that he's  _ not _ stupid, the reason he struggles with reading and writing falls much deeper than laziness and unintelligence. (for that was what he was told when he was younger) She learns things about herself too, Reyn teaches her things that she had never realised before. They grow and they change and they get older and older with each passing year, and they are  _ together. _

She cannot put into words how fortunate she is, how lucky she is to be able to stand by his side; despite it all, despite the pain and the heartbreak and the loneliness that had plagued her, she had kept on going. She had grown all the stronger for it, she had mended her heart and Reyn - who had waited for her, for he would wait as long as it would take for her to be ready - had been there. Always, he had been there. And when Sharla was ready, when the wounds of her broken heart were fading scars, she had fallen into his open arms, jumped into the abyss below and he had caught her. It had seemed scary, that first step. It had felt like a betrayal, like something dirty. How could she ever love somebody else when Gadolt was dead. How could she just  _ forget _ about him and find somebody else? But Reyn had soothed her racing thoughts, made her realise that the best way she could respect Gadolt's memory was to be happy once more. To smile and laugh and love again, to make a brighter future that she would look forward to. Reyn's arms were warm and safe and comforting, and although that first step had been terrifying, although she had feared what would happen next, Reyn had caught her and held on to her. Helped pull her from the raging wars of the ocean, given her love when she thought that she did not deserve it, helped her without ever wanting anything in return.

He had been more than willing to stay by her side, simply  _ be _ with her, even if she would never return his feelings. Selfless as always, rushing into things with absolutely no regard for himself. She had loved him though, even back then, and she loves him more and more with each passing day. It had taken time to accept that, to accept that she was deserving of this newfound happiness, but she is here now. She is here and each new day looks brighter and brighter and even when the night comes, she knows that the day will always follow. 

But, no matter how much she trusts Reyn, she can't help but worry about him when he's gone. She's always been a worrier, anyway. She's devoted her life to healing others, it's her  _ job _ to worry over others, peck around them like a concerned mother hen. 

She cares deeply for all those around her, cares for everyone like they are her own family, and Reyn is no exception. Reyn  _ is _ her family, a part of her heart and home, and with his history of injuring himself, she cannot help but worry over him.

So when he leaves that day, goes off with his squadron to reclaim their lost land, she worries. 

He laughs at her, not unkindly; but fondly, and looks down at her with such softness in his eyes that Sharla feels as though she is his stars in the night sky, his very world. His smile is gentle, soothing, and his eyes are crinkled at the edges, creases of crows' feet leaving their faint steps, proof of much of his life spent with a grin on his lips. He bends down, Sharla standing on the tips of her toes to meet him halfway. The kiss is familiar, one of Reyn's hands on her waist, tugging her closer to him, and the other one tangled in her hair. His finger traces over the shell of her ear and she shivers, leaning in closer, looping her arms around his neck. He smiles, his teeth clacking against hers as he laughs again. When he pulls away, his face is flushed, deep red spattered across his cheekbones. "I love you." He says like it is the most simple thing in the world, the  _ only _ thing in the world. Straight and honest, like he always is. "And I'll be back soon, I promise." 

He shifts himself backwards, but not before Sharla can steal another kiss, and he looks down at her. Looks at her as though she has hung the stars and moon in the sky, looks at her as if she is impossible, as if he can't quite believe that she's real. Maybe he can't. Maybe he's still just as besotted with her as she is with him. "I love you too," she grabs his hand with her own, their fingers locking together, the silver bands around their fingers clacking against one another. A reminder, a promise. She looks down at their intertwined hands, her own slender ones against Reyn's broader ones; slotting together as if they were always meant to be. It's the cliche, the sappy crap of  _ destiny, _ of  _ finding your other half _ . Sharla's always had a soft spot for things like that, always had a soft spot for the future being written in the stars and soulmates and fate. Perhaps she is just a hopeless romantic, but sometimes it really does feel like her and Reyn were meant to be. (It had felt like that with Gadolt too, and Sharla liked to think that she was lucky, that you could have more than one soulmate, that she could always have another chance for happiness)

"Don't you  _ dare _ get yourself injured out there." She says with a grin, looking up at him once more. He laughs, winks, and offers a mock salute. 

"I don't plan on it," he says, and Sharla thinks she has never been as happy as this.

x

It only takes a few days, however, before Sharla finds herself drawn into a panic; her heart in her throat and the black tendrils of memory clawing at her lungs. 

There had been a rockfall, of all the things. Reyn and his team had gotten trapped in it. They had killed a  _ god _ and now rockfall was their biggest threat. Part of her wants to laugh, because they are not invincible. They are not immortal. They are still homs, a delicate form of life, and this is the proof. There was no shield around them, no unbreakable defence, they were just as vulnerable as everybody else.

She's with Juju when the news hits her. They'd been sitting outside, lazing around the Colony for it was Sharla's break and Juju had nothing better to be doing. It had been peaceful, for although winter was fast approaching, the sun was still warm and the wind was not harsh. They had been  _ enjoying _ themselves, Juju talking about something that she was only half-listening to, something about machines that Sharla can't ever hope to understand, when a younger member of the defence force had approached them. She'd been nervous, a scraggly looking thing with wide eyes, a snub nose. A new recruit, obviously, still a trainee who wasn't yet trusted with jobs outside the colony. 

Sharla had smiled up at her, shushed Juju's incessant chattering with a flick of her wrist, and waited for the girl to speak. 

She only says about three words before her blood runs cold. 

_Rockslide,_ she hears. _Your husband._ _Injured._ The rest of her words fall on deaf ears, for Sharla has frozen in place. She feels Juju's hands on her arm, hears sounds that she cannot comprehend. The girl who had broken the news scarpers, and Sharla finds herself suddenly standing, although she does not remember standing up. A wave of dizziness hits her, she feels bile rise up her throat; her stomach dropping to the very soles of her feet. 

Then, without warning, there's a sharp sting of pain. Juju pinches her arm, once, harsh. His nails dig into her skin, leaving rivulets of deep pink imprints, the skin reddening where the blood has risen. She gasps, breath leaving her lungs that she had not realised she'd been holding. As if she has been submerged underwater, risen to the surface with the desperate gasps of someone half-drowned. 

"Sharla!" Juju says, his hands moving to her wrists, gripping them tightly. She feels trapped, stuck in one place, unable to move. All she can think of is  _ Reyn, _ of the landslide. What happens if he's badly hurt? What happens if he's dead?

Part of Sharla, back when she and Reyn had first made things official, had been convinced that she was cursed. That there were only black clouds, a thunderous sky that hung heavy over her. That she was doomed for those she loved to leave, eventually. That the sunlight would never fall on her, that she would remain trapped in the shadow of the trees' leaves, blocked out in shade; never quite able to step into the sunlight. She feels that panic, that anxiety that sometimes grips her in the dead of the night, come back full force.

At least in those moments, in the early hours of the morning when nightmares have jolted Sharla awake, Reyn is  _ there. _ He is, usually, by her side. Breathing deeply, his bare chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths, his face relaxed; his mouth half-open, snoring softly.

Usually, the sight of him there, the proof that he is still  _ here _ and that he is still alive, is enough to soothe the faint memory of Sharla's dreams. But even when that is not enough, even when Sharla shakes Reyn awake, just to see the honey-gold brown of his eyes, the flutter of his eyelashes across his freckled cheeks, a jaw-cracking yawn and the furrow of his concerned brows, he is always there. 

He brings her close, on those nights. Shifts so Sharla can rest her head on his chest, so her ear is pressed up against his ribs, allowing her to hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. He breathes against her, his breath hot against her forehead as he presses his lips to it, his arms resting on her shoulders before he wraps himself around her, pulls her on top of him and slowly drifts back to sleep.

Sometimes, even that isn't enough for Sharla to be soothed; so he stays awake. He sits there, eyes laced with sleep and bags under his eyes, but he does not complain once. He sits there and holds Sharla's hands until they're not shaking, talks to her of anything and everything. He will interlock their fingers, the clack of their rings hitting one another a soothing sound in the waning moonlight. No matter how long he must stay awake, even if he does not get to sleep again that night, never once does he scowl or frown or do  _ anything _ other than be supportive. He will sit there with her until he  _ knows _ that she will be able to sleep once more. And if Sharla can't? Then he simply stays awake with her. Such logic comes in black and white for Reyn, for he does such a thing instinctively, without even having to think about it.

But now, right here, with Juju's hands pinching at her skin and her own breath ragged; caught in the tightness of her throat, Reyn isn't here. He's not here, he's not beside her, and all Sharla can think about is death. 

The logical part of her, the medic in her, tells herself she's having a panic attack. The clammy hands, the tight breathing, the constriction of her throat and lungs. That part of her tells her to take deep breaths, to ground herself. To list the things she can see around her, count the streetlights and the clouds in the daylight sky. To feel the ground against her feet, the sunlight on her skin, Juju's hands wrapped tight around her own. To take in the world around her, to not let herself become lost in thoughts that will not stop swirling, thick like smoke and settling in her stomach like ash.

But there is another part of her, a louder part that screams and shouts and cries, that will not let her relax. It will not let her take in a breath, it will not give her a moment of respite, a moment of peace for her to simply gather her thoughts. Instead, it rages like a storm, like flashes of lightning that beat against the ground and envelop the world in golden static, burning flame. 

"He's fine." Someone is saying.  _ Juju, _ her mind supplies, for she knows that he is stood in front of her, she knows that it is  _ his _ hands in her own. She looks for him, though. Looks for where she knows he stands, but she cannot see him. There is a wavery silhouette, a mishmash of colour that stands before her; tan skin and dark hair. Her vision swims, a mixture of both panic and tears clouding her view. She can't focus. In an effort to focus, she blinks hard, attempts to blink away the tears, but that only makes her eyes sting more, makes her aware of the dampness of her cheeks, the tickle of a tear sliding down underneath her jaw. 

"He's fine, Sharla." The same voice says again. But she can't focus on it, she can't hear it. No matter what Juju says, no matter what he does, her mind has gone down a different path. A dark one, with trees long overgrown, their trunks gnarled until it seems as if there are faces; nasty faces, looming back at her. 

She feels sick, another wave of dizziness hits her. She still can't suck in a breath, her lungs won't stop burning. Her knees buckle and there is someone supporting her. It has to be Juju. He's got his arms wrapped around her and suddenly she takes in one deep breath.

This reminds her of a time long before. Only, it had not been Juju holding her; it had been the other way around. Back when their parents had- 

She remembers holding Juju like this, holding him up when they were both still children, both young and innocent yet turned into savagery by a war that had stripped away their youth far too soon. She  _ remembers _ , and she uses that memory to ground herself. 

For this is like all those years ago, like when Juju had cried and gasped and could not catch a breath. She had held him, wrapped her arms around his chest and let him cry, she had been there; back before she knew what to do in such a scenario, and waited until his breathing had become deeper, his eyes focused on her once more.

This is like that, like all those memories, but it is not that that brings her comfort. What brings her comfort is that this isn't the same. It's not. It's  _ her _ being comforted by  _ Juju. _ This is not a repeat of history. This is not an endless loop. Just because it has happened before, does not mean it will happen again. 

"H-he's alright?" Sharla says, her voice brittle, still scratched and raw from the panic that had clawed at her from the inside out. 

"He's alright." Juju confirms, his voice quiet. 

He's still not great at this sort of thing, still lacking the observant skills needed to truly be effective at calming down such panic, but Sharla knows that he's trying. He's been trying so damn hard after those awful days on Spiral Valley, those hours spent in the dreary depths of the Ether Mine. He's trying to be more aware of his impact on the world, of the way his actions affect others, of how the things he says and do have far more consequence than he'd once believed. He's still not there, he still makes mistakes, but he's barely an adult. Older than he was, but still young. And he's getting better. The reconstruction work had matured him greatly, given him a newfound purpose in his life that had driven him; given him somewhere to dispel his anger, his emotion at the mistreatment of the Homs at the hands of the Mechon. He's still growing now, still changing every day, and Sharla is proud of him. She's proud of how far he's come.

She's still not calm, the edges of panic still clinging in the background of her thoughts, but she tries to squash it down. For Juju, for he's trying his best. For herself, for she knows that such thoughts are not conducive to herself. Such thoughts will not help her, and getting lost in the past when she's been trying so hard to move forwards will only make things worse.

She smiles, one that most certainly does not reach her eyes, but it is a smile nonetheless. "I'm okay," she says, before Juju can even open his mouth to ask. "I'll be fine." 

She hugs Juju, buries her face in his hair and holds him against her. Slows her breathing, tries to empty her mind. It is hard, something she struggles with frequently, but it is easier. As the years have passed, it is easier to bring herself down from her remnants of trauma. It is never  _ easy  _ and - in fact - it never gets 'easier', she just gets better at it. The bad stays still come, the nightmares that won't leave but, with Reyn's help (and a good few therapy sessions) she's been working on things. 

"Reyn's alive, Sharla." Juju breathes, and his eyes are scrunched in that expression that lets Sharla know he doesn't really have any idea on what to do, on what to say. He's making an effort, though. He's trying to help. "He's injured, but he won't die-" He flinches at Sharla's sharp inhale, the sudden wideness of her eyes. 

"S-sorry-" she cuts him off with a shake of her head. 

"It's fine. I think- I need to go home." He nods, eyes downcast and his hands shifting by his side, as if he doesn't quite know what to do with them. He offers to walk her home, but Sharla turns him down. 

She wants some time to herself, time to unwind. The panic still hasn't left her, it's still bubbling just under the surface, and she wants to be alone.

When she gets home, hears the familiar click of the key turning in the lock, breathes in that scent of  _ home, _ of safety and warmth and comfort, she hurries inside.

The house is on the smaller side.  _ Cosy, _ she likes to call it. Not quite big enough for two people, not really; but that's how they like it. That's how  _ she _ likes it. Knowing that Reyn is always nearby, having the  _ proof _ that he lives here lying in every room. His shoes by the door, his glasses (that he adamantly refuses to wear) left haphazardly on the kitchen counter. 

She knows where she wants to go, though. And perhaps she is foolish, perhaps it is a silly thing to do, but she heads straight to their bedroom, straight to their wardrobe. 

She sits there, amongst the hung-up shirts, the folded up trousers. (The two of them are organised, for some time in the force will eventually instil such things in you) The clothes drape around her, the fabric soft and clean. It smells of soap, of clean water, of  _ freshness _ . But, underneath it all, a familiar scent lingers. She inhales deeply, closes her eyes. The remnants of Reyn are a distant thing, the scent barely noticeable, but Sharla can pick it up. That scent of fresh spring rainfall, of dirt under fingernails and the outside world. She breathes it in, her hands rising to her mouth and her teeth biting down on the flesh. The tears spill out her eyes before she can stop them. She knows she needs to get out of here, calm herself down. There are people she can talk to, those who keep in touch with soldiers out on the field.  _ Reyn is alive, _ she tells herself. Over and over again, she whispers it out loud, as if hearing the words will make them feel more real. On her skin, she traces the letters, taps them against her palms.

It does not work and she cries harder.

x

Her night is sleepless. She lies awake, feeling the coolness of her empty bed, the space that should be occupied by another body but is instead left cold and empty. 

She thinks of Gadolt and she knows she could not go through that again. She could not be alone again, not here, not in this new world; not in any world. 

But she sits there, watches the light rise from behind the blackout curtains, watches the shadows deepen as nightfall approaches and then lighten once more when the sun rises.

She does not even realise it is the next day. Not until she hears the twittering of birdsong from outside her window, until she hears the shouts of children from outdoors. Her stomach rumbles but she does not feel hungry, her eyes are heavy and tired but she cannot sleep. 

The morning is here but she does not want to get up. She does not want to get out. The curtains remain closed and her room remains dark. 

She must fall asleep at some point, for her doze is fitful and it does not take long for the plague of nightmares to arrive. They are much of the same, the dreams that she frequently has. Ones that depict events that have already happened, ones that show both fact and fiction; the memories of the dreary Central Factory; of those months she had spent waiting before it all.

Then there are the ones that are not real, the things that have never happened. But during her dream-state, during that slip into an alternate reality; they feel  _ real. _ She sees Reyn die, again and again and again. Hundreds,  _ thousands _ of times. All in different ways, all somehow worse than the ones prior. 

She wakes up with a gasp, a pounding in her head. She feels sick, dizzy, and her vision is blurred, bile rising in her throat. The pounding continues, loud and thunderous in her dazed head. She gags, but nothing comes up, and she feels the warmth of tears on her cheeks. 

"Sharla!" Somebody shouts. "Sharla!" 

The pounding continues, louder and louder and louder. An applause of drum beat, one that bores its way into her mind, like a pulse of sickness. She gags again. 

"Sharla! Open the door!" 

She _breathes_. Closes her eyes. _It's the door, of course, it's the door._ _What else would it have been?_

She feels foolish as she rises to a stand, the duvet tangled around her like snakeskin. The shouting continues, the knocking at her door doesn't stop.

While the dregs of her nightmares still pull her down, she is coherent enough that she can recognize the voice. It's Juju. 

The hallway to the front door feels monochromatic, as if the colour and life have been sucked straight out of it. It always feels like this to some extent when Reyn isn't here, but right now it feels  _ dead. _

She gulps, her fingers rubbing at her temples. She's just so  _ goddamn _ tired. All she wants is Reyn, here and now. To see him, to  _ know _ that he's okay. 

She opens the door, and there is Juju. She looks at him. She can't believe he's an adult now. That he's got a place of his own, that he's off doing his own things. But as she looks at him here, looks at the concern writ plain on his face, he looks so much older. So much older than twenty-one. He'd been forced to grow up far too quickly. All of them had.

Juju looks at her, looks at her rumpled mess of hair, the tear stains on her cheeks and the creases from the duvet pressed into her arms. She looks like  _ shit _ , but he doesn't say a word.

"Reyn's okay." He says. "He's here, they brought him - and the rest of his squad - back."

Sharla feels as if the air has been sucked out of her, as if her bones have melted. Of course he was back. They'd flown there on pods, and even then the journey would have only taken them ten hours - max. They would have just flown him back, straight away. She feels like a fool. Like an over-anxious, stupid fool.

It must show on her face for Juju - surprisingly observant for once - places a hand on her shoulder. "Don't look like that. It's not your fault that you feel like this. If I were you, then I'd probably feel even worse."

His comforting words aren't… well, they're not the greatest, but Sharla takes solace in them nevertheless. She hugs him then. He's still the tiniest bit shorter than her, (which he's  _ not _ happy about), but he's so much older. She doesn't really notice it, not usually; but on her worst days. When she feels at her worst, she notices.

It makes her feel…  _ weak. _

It's been  _ eight years, _ she and Reyn had been dating for five, they've been married for a whole year. She should have moved on by now, she should be  _ better. _ She shouldn't be getting bogged down with memories, finding her breath vanishing under the crushing weight of her past; of nightmares that will not leave and shadows that only seem to lengthen and grow.

(She knows that's not true. It's what she tells all her patients. It's her  _ job _ to heal people, no matter how long it takes, to let them know that it's  _ okay _ if they never truly recover, if things never truly go away, yet she can't treat herself in the same regard)

She feels ridiculous, she feels stupid, she feels  _ childish. _ But Juju looks at her in that way when Sharla knows he wants to say something, knows he wants to do something to help, but he doesn't quite know what.

"Do you want to come and see him? They'll probably let him come back here with you, I mean, his injury isn't too severe."

Sharla doesn't even have to think about it.

"Yes." She breathes.

x

Reyn is in the infirmary, a place that Sharla knows exceedingly well, for - in general - this new world is much less dangerous than the last. While it is still not perfect, and it certainly has its fair share of threats, (the indigenous life can still become violent, if not dealt with accordingly) there has been less need for her to always be out on the field. Most of the force know enough basic first-aid that they can survive, and injuries do not get severe enough that the Colony would be willing to sacrifice their best doctors and nurses. She spends much of her time here, doing the job she had always  _ wanted  _ to do. 

She never really wanted to be a fighter, not if she'd had the choice. She wouldn't change the path she had taken, nor the choices she had made; not for anything in the world, but she had never imagined herself being on the front lines of a war far greater than anyone could have ever imagined. 

She had always wanted to  _ heal, _ to  _ help. _ For as long as she could remember, she's always had a passion for watching life grow. She enjoys her time out on the field, when the opportunity arises, but she is made for work in the infirmary. Made for having permanent patients, home visits where she helps those with maladies and heals those with injuries. She enjoys her life, she is so happy here. The happiest, perhaps, that she has ever been.

Of course, she knows exactly where Reyn will be when she is led into the infirmary. She is familiar with the wards, could walk them with her eyes closed. (she did, after all, help build them) 

Her heart pounds as she gets closer to the place where Reyn will be, she feels her hands go clammy. She  _ knows _ he is fine, she  _ knows _ that he will not die here; not for a long time if she has anything to do with it, but she still can't rest peacefully. She has to  _ see _ him, in the flesh and living, she has to  _ know _ with one-hundred percent certainty that he is okay. 

She moves blindly, instinctively, her feet carrying her to the ward where he will be. Not even having to think about it for a moment, she breathes in the scent of chemical cleanser; of the almost stale scent of a hospital; the clinical clean sort of smell that Sharla has grown to find comforting.

And then there he is.

He's lying in bed, white sheets stark against his dark skin. His leg is slightly propped up, wrapped in thick plaster, and there are deep bruises around his bare biceps, snaking down to his wrists. His eyes are closed, but Sharla can see the even fall and rise of his chest. He's sleeping, his face serene. Peaceful. 

She makes sure she is quiet when she approaches, but Reyn must have only been dozing for his eyes flicker open as her footsteps patter against the linoleum floor. His eyelashes flutter, casting dark shadows on his cheeks, and Sharla instantly cradles his hand in hers.

It's large, scarred on the knuckles and calloused on the palms. Rough from hard work, from a life spent using his hands, from fighting and countless injuries he has amassed over the years. But when he shifts his fingers, traces the centre of her palm with his fingertips, his touch is so gentle, so soft. Like the brush of butterflies wings, tentative, barely there. His wedding ring glints silver against his skin and her fingers trace over it, carefully stroke the embedded inscription. 

Their wedding rings are Reyn's own parents' old rings. Saved by Reyn for over a decade, re-sized to fit their own hands. 

He'd proposed with his mother's old ring, said he'd buy Sharla a fancier one, if she wanted, once he'd saved up enough cash. The ring was simple, just a plain silver band - no diamonds or gems or embellishments. 

She hadn't wanted that anyway. All that fancy stuff, all that expense. She prefered this, the simplicity. What it  _ said, _ rather than what it showed.  _ We are together, _ their matching hands said.  _ We are one, and we are happy. _

_ It's perfect, _ she'd told Reyn when he'd slid it onto her finger. His brows had creased at that, a flush rising to his face.  _ Aw, Sharla, you don't have to say that. It ain't the prettiest ring, I know, I just- I wanted to do it now. I didn't want to wait.  _ She'd laughed at that, silencing him with a kiss.  _ That's the Reyn I know. Always rushing into things headfirst. Besides,  _ she'd paused then; her eyes flickering down to the silver band.  _ This is much more special. It feels like- like family. And that's what I want.  _ She had kissed Reyn again, simply because she could, smiled against his lips.  _ I want to be a family with you.  _

And she had meant it. Only Reyn could be foolish enough to give her such a gift, a ring that had meant so much to him, had meant more to him than all the money in the world, and then offer to  _ buy her another one _ in case she hadn't liked it. 

And, later that evening, when they had been curled up in bed together, their legs intertwined and his arms wrapped tightly around her, he'd whispered into her hair.  _ I used to always look at my parents, I used to see the way they would look at each other. The way they would smile, as if they were the luckiest people in the world. When they died, their rings were proof of that, in a way. An' even though I was just a dumb kid, I knew I wanted that some day.  _ He had pulled her closer then, arms tightening their hold around her. His lips had been on her jawline, peppering the softest of kisses there.  _ I've found it,  _ he said. The words had come from his naturally, fell from his lips as if this had been something on his mind for a while.  _ I think I'm the luckiest guy in the world, _ he had said.

Sharla had snuggled into him, buried her face into the crook of his collarbone, closed her eyes and melted into him. They slotted together like two puzzle pieces, two separate parts that had always belonged together.  _ You're corny. _ She whispered against his shoulder.  _ I love you. I love you so much. _

And now, they are here. Skin dark against pale sheets, bruises on his arms and his legs in plaster. But still, that ring is bright against his skin. Still, it glows. She doesn't even realise she's crying until Reyn's face - always so expressive - shifts into worry. His hands are reaching up to cup her jaw, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed. "I'm sorry, Sharla." He says and she finds herself crying harder.

She feels so  _ stupid. _ Why is he apologizing? He's the one who'd gotten hurt, he's the one who needed to be comforted right now, not her. 

He'd broken his leg. All he'd done was  _ broken his leg. _ It was a severe break, for sure, but that was it. And here Sharla is, blubbering like a baby because she can't just  _ get over _ the past. 

"Don't apologise," she says, her voice cracking. "I'm just being stupid." 

Reyn's hand stiffens against her cheek.

"Don't say that." His voice is low, quiet. " _ Please, _ " there's an edge of desperation, a plea in his voice that Sharla so desperately wants to believe in. "I'm supposed to be the stupid one, remember?"

Despite herself, she smiles; gives a watery laugh. "You're not stupid." She says and Reyn grins up at her, concern still brewing in his eyes, but his cheeks are flushed and his smile is broad. 

"An' if I ain't stupid then you definitely aren't." But then his grin falls, his face becomes stoic, serious. "I'm sorry I made you worry." 

He grasps both of her hands with his, squeezes them gently. There's more he wants to say, Sharla is certain of it, but he does not speak. Not for now, later, perhaps. Instead, he runs his fingers across her knuckles, holds her hands as if they are a lifeline, as if she is the most important thing in his life.

Then he looks up at her once more, the gleam returned to his eyes. 

"Do you think you can get me out of here?" He asks, "This place is too stuffy and proper for me. I'd much rather be back at home with you."

Sharla smiles, disentangles their hands and then - just because she can, because she's  _ tired _ of feeling bad, of feeling guilty over her thoughts, her feelings, the past that  _ still _ haunts her - she gives a mock bow. "Your wish is my command." 

Reyn's laugh is loud, vibrant. The colour seeps back into her world and Sharla - for the first time since he had left - allows herself to relax.

x

For the first few days of his return, Reyn is saddled to the bed. He's on strict orders from Sharla to  _ stay there, goddamnit, _ and not try to get up, go and do things, when movement now could affect the way his leg heals for the rest of his life. 

He tells her what happened,  _ how _ he got injured. The land had been unstable at the site, the cliffs still feeling the effect of the entire shifting of a world. Reyn had seen the rocks begin to fall before his subordinate had and - because he was  _ Reyn _ \- he'd pushed them to safety, no thought for his own wellbeing until the rocks collapsed on him and crushed his leg.

The other injuries, the cuts and bruises, are mostly surface level, and Sharla can heal that with some ether shells. There's a deep gash on his hand, however, that needs attending to. And even though Sharla had fixed broken bones on their adventure, it's not ideal. She could, technically, (as Reyn asks her to do  _ many _ times over the next couple of days) just get some more powerful ether shells, fix him up nice and proper. But there's no telling what the long term effects of healing with ether can do; it isn't  _ natural _ for the body to recover that quickly and Sharla can't help but think of the Telethias; of their bodies exploding as the absorbed ether became all too much. So she doesn't heal him with ether, despite his protests. 

They're not in a rush, they have all the time in the world. There is no quest, no mission. They can take their time, let nature flow and let their bodies simply  _ breathe _ . 

They sleep together that night, Sharla ever-careful to not disturb Reyn's casted leg. Their hands are intertwined, though; and Sharla's face rests in the crook of Reyn's collarbone, the space just below his jawline. 

She can hear the rhythmic thump of his heart, the steady warmth of his breathing. 

She lets herself melt against him, lets her eyes slip closed.

This time, when she sleeps, she dreams of nothing.

x

Sharla can't help but dote on Reyn. Just a little bit. 

It's in her  _ nature _ , she argues to herself. She's a nurturing sort. She can sure as hell handle herself in battle, but at the same time she is quite… mothering. The two aren't mutually exclusive. She can literally  _ shoot _ a god and she can also fret over the state of her husband. She's got that  _ range. _ But even then, even with her seemingly endless patience and her all of her fussing and fretting, she finds herself being worn thin by Reyn.

"You are the worst patient I've ever had. Ever" She groans as she walks into their bedroom, finds Reyn awkwardly trying to work his crutches.  _ Again. _ He's obviously in pain, if the grimace on his face is anything to go by, but  _ still _ he pushes himself. 

" _ Sharla! _ Come on! I'm bored!" a worried expression flashes across his face. "Besides, I can't be a worse patient than Gorman, can I?" 

Sharla laughs, shaking her head in exasperation. "I don't  _ care _ if you're bored. Just stay in bed, like I've told you to do  _ a thousand times. _ And yes, I would rather treat a-hundred Gormon's than have to deal with you." He opens his mouth in disbelief, his eyebrows drooping and his eyes blown wide. However, there's a grin that threatens to spill over his face, a twinkle that surrounds him that has Sharla hiding her own smirk.

"Maybe, if you healed me with ether… you wouldn't have to put up with-"

"No! Just stay in bed!"

And it's true. He is possibly the worst patient Sharla has ever had. Reyn has the impatience of a three-year-old, and he's  _ stubborn  _ as all hell. She's never had to put up with him like this before, not really. He's gotten injured throughout the years and he's gotten sick with colds and flu, but he's never been sane of mind  _ and _ bed bound for even a  _ day _ . 

Sharla genuinely might kill him. She loves him. She loves him  _ so _ much but he knows  _ exactly _ how to push her buttons and he hasn't bloody stopped pushing her buttons since she came home.

She  _ says _ that, but she's still doting on him. Still soft and gentle and concerned and worrying around him like an old mother hen. He's annoying and whiny and he won't stop complaining, but part of her can't help but find his petulance amusing, even if it does make her want to tear her hair out. So she continues working from home, continues fretting about him and checking his leg every hour and (to her slight embarrassment) placing her fingers on his wrist, her hand over his heart, just to feel the thumping of a pulse, of a heartbeat. To remind herself, to ground herself when the ever-building panic threatens to rise once more. 

To his credit, he doesn't say anything about it. In fact, if Sharla were to be presumptuous, she'd even go as far as saying Reyn  _ likes _ it. He likes the attention, the way Sharla simply sits there and holds his hand, tells him about her day and cards her hand through his hair. He leans against her at night, wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He still complains, still begs Sharla to just fix him up with ether, but even when she refuses, even when she grows short with him and becomes snappish and bad-tempered, he still looks at her like she's… like she's beautiful. Like she's the most important person in his world. 

Eventually, after he's been home for just under two days, Sharla lets him get out of bed. 

Preferably, she'd want him there for at least another day. Probably two, but also she doesn't know how long she can put up with his  _ complaining. _ He even looks a bit sheepish when Sharla eventually just gives in, hands him his crutches - which she'd moved to the other side of the room in the hopes that he  _ wouldn't  _ try and get them, although Sharla had found him sprawled out on the floor yesterday, his leg held up in the air and his eyes guilt-ridden, like a puppy. 

_ (I'm… a bit stuck, _ he'd said and Sharla couldn't help it, she'd burst into laughter, much to his amusement) She decides it's simply easier to let him do what he wants. 

_ As long as you don't strain yourself, _ she'd said. 

Ten minutes later, as Sharla had been making notes on another one of her patients; Matryona, who was in the very first stages of pregnancy, (Ewan was being a  _ nightmare _ with the whole thing. It was rather sweet, but he was more worried about the whole ordeal than Matryona herself) when she hears the familiar thud of Reyn's loud footsteps.

At least she always knew when he was coming. Noise seems to follow him like the night follows the day. 

"Hey, Sharla," he says, head peeking around the doorframe. She sighs, rubbing her temples. Why does she already feel like whatever Reyn's going to say will be foolish? 

She doesn't even answer, she just looks up at him; her face deadpan. This, right here, is Reyn's chance to  _ think _ about what he's going to say. This is his chance to backtrack, to say  _ oh, it doesn't matter, _ rather than say something stupid; something ridiculous. Sharla already knows what he's going to do before he even does it. 

He ploughs on. 

"Can you run in crutches?"

Sharla might scream. 

x

Reyn's only been home for  _ four days _ and already his broken leg has driven Sharla to insanity. He's not in a much better state of mind, either. He  _ has _ to be doing things. He can't just sit around and do nothing, he needs to be active. He doesn't have the patience for quiet ways to pass the time, though. Reading gives him the worst headaches, he can't focus on one task for long enough for it to actually be worth it. He's impatient, he likes things to go quickly, to do what he wants  _ when _ he wants. 

He's got so much energy, too.  _ So. Damn. Much. _

He bounces his hands on his legs, taps out rhythms into the table and hums and whistles - without even realising it. Sharla is convinced she genuinely might go insane.

Of course, she says all of this, but she's the one who's still taking time off of work; who's organising her notes of patients at home when she really should be doing it in her office at the infirmary. She's the one who's  _ choosing _ to say here, to sit with Reyn and put up with his antics.

For as much as she complains, she loves him. She loves him so much and part of her is still scared. No matter what happens, no matter what changes in her life and what remains the same, she still has the same nightmares. She still has the intrusive thoughts, the ones that grab her and will not leave her alone. She worries about Reyn constantly. She  _ likes _ being here, even if he is driving her round the bend, 

She can't help but have sympathy for him, though. Being holed up in here, still unable to walk long distances and having to spend most of his time in-doors (for he is stubborn and refuses to ask for Sharla's help with things unless he  _ really _ needs it) is  _ agonising _ for him. He gets cranky, defensive, and Sharla gets snappy with him in response.

They bicker - nothing serious, but more than they would have before - and argue over the most ridiculous things, sometimes so ridiculous they end up laughing at themselves afterwards, but when Reyn tells Sharla to go back to working at the infirmary, she can't help but agree.

She knows - although she wouldn't want to admit it - that she's getting just as antsy as Reyn in here. She… she doesn't want to leave him, as ridiculous as that sounds. He's  _ injured, _ and even though that injury will heal, will leave no long-lasting effects and most certainly  _ won't _ kill him, Sharla's anxiety rises at the thought of leaving him here. 

Eventually, she works up the courage to just tell him what's wrong, to tell him  _ why _ she doesn't want to leave him. They've spoken about this multiple times, a lot over the years they have been together. But things are getting worse again. They'd been looking up for so long now, only heightening during anniversaries; on those hard days of the year that brought back far too many memories for Sharla to handle alone. But now they are getting worse again and Sharla just wants it to  _ stop. _

"Sometimes," she says, her voice quiet. "When you're not here, or I'm away and I can't see you-" she feels utterly  _ pathetic. _ She'd not been  _ this _ bad for a while, but Reyn's accident had shaken her up. "I remember." She can't look at Reyn. She doesn't want to see the sympathy she  _ knows _ will be there, she doesn't want  _ kindness, _ not for acting so childishly. 

"Gadolt?" Reyn asks and Sharla can't stop herself from flinching.  _ Weak _ , she tells herself. 

But Reyn's hands are on her face, his thumbs brushing over the line of her cheekbones. He tilts her head up, places a kiss against her lips and squeezes, ever so gently. "I'm still here," he says. "An' if you feel anythin', if you feel bad or anxious at work, I'll still be here. You can come here on your breaks, or I can try and get t'you."

"Don't you dare try and walk to the infirmary," her voice is mockingly stern and Reyn cracks a smile, but then her eyes darken. "I'm sorry," she says. "I feel like we're going backwards. Things haven't been this bad in a while."

Reyn looks at her then, brow furrowed, thinking.

"Well," he begins, fingers now absently carding through Sharla's hair. "that doesn't make any sense." 

He looks at Sharla, intense and bright, his lips pursed and his face rigid and stern. "You've been tellin' me for the past week to not move around too much, t'make sure I don't make my leg any worse. You've gotta give it time to heal, yeah?" 

Sharla nods, still not sure where he's going with this.

"If I went on a run now, it'd make it worse, right?" she nods again. "Well, this is the same." He flushes, his hands falling from her face as he scrubs the back of his neck. "I mean- it's not the same, a broken leg an', uh- that's not what I mean." He laughs, awkwardly, and Sharla raises an eyebrow at him.

"Okay! Anyway, what I'm tryna say is that… this, right now, is like me running."

Sharla is lost. It must show on her face for Reyn runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends.

"I'm not good with this, but your anxiety is like- like an injury, right? An' the source of the injury is…  _ that _ stuff, yeah? An' when you got the news back, about me, that was like a memory, right? That's  _ your _ running. It makes the injury worse, so now you've got to wait for it to heal again. But it's not a step backwards an' you're not weak for this."

He takes Sharla's hands in his own.

"I dunno if what I've said makes any sense, but I  _ wish _ you'd treat yourself like one of your patients. You're the most- you're the most beautiful person I know. You're kind and selfless and you always try to look after everyone, but you always forget to look after yourself."

Sharla's breath catches in her throat. 

"I love you," he says. "I love you so much."

Sharla buries her face into the crook of his neck, her lips warm against his skin. 

"I love you too," she mumbles back, squeezing her eyes shut as the tears begin to spill. Reyn wraps his arms around her, pulls her close. And, despite it all, she smiles.

x

She returns to work two days later, at Reyn's insistence. 

He's still running with the broken leg metaphor, much to Sharla's amusement. This is her 'physiotherapy', although Reyn hadn't called it that. He'd called it the 'moving things you learn after you start to get better'. Which isn't  _ wrong, _ but Sharla's pretty sure he meant physiotherapy. 

Her shift in the morning is for three hours. She gets a break, at around midday, and then she works for another four. Sometimes she works longer than that, sometimes she works less. But winter is coming and the patients are beginning to stack up, higher and higher. 

Her break comes swiftly and, before she knows it, she's walking back to their house, her head held high and a slight spring in her step. She's feeling better, the best she has since Reyn had come back. 

But as she approaches her house, she stops in her tracks.

Reyn is outside, standing by their unused raised planters. He's got a leaky watering can in one hand, a trowel in the other. However, he sees Sharla and instantly stops what he's doing. Coming over to him, she looks at interest to the small bags of seeds he has resting on the edge of the planter, the series of holes he has dug and the bag of compost at his feet.

Reyn had made these planters for Sharla a while back, a few years ago now - before they had started living together. She had wanted to grow flowers, but… things hadn't really worked out. It's embarrassing, that for someone who devotes their life to  _ healing others, _ she can't seem to keep her flowers alive for more than a few days.

But here is Reyn, with his crutches held awkwardly under his arms, wrangling between compost and seeds and a trowel and a watering can that's leaking dirty water all over him.

"I'm bored. This is just something to do." He says, instantly, before Sharla can even ask him about it. 

She doesn't believe it, not for a second, for there is a flush high on his cheeks and a smile slapped onto his face that Sharla can't help but smile back at.

x

The days turn into weeks and it isn't long until Reyn's leg is fully healed. 

Sharla, when the time comes, finds herself surprised by how  _ okay _ she is when Reyn is sent back out into the field. She herself had been sent out a few times in the prior weeks - although never for long - but she'd always thought that when Reyn was to be sent out once more she'd take issue with it.

Reyn doesn't seem surprised at all. He'd simply laughed at Sharla, watering can in hand and dirt under his fingernails, and smiled brighter than the sun itself. "It's like the broken leg, remember? You just need time. An' it don't matter how long it takes. You'll look after me if I get banged up an' I'll look after you, no matter what." 

But even after Reyn's leg is fully healed and he isn't confined to the Colony, his movement restricted, he does not stop caring for his garden. When his leg is mended, he simply plants more flowers - these ones surrounding the base of their house, the plots of dirt where he once couldn't kneel down to reach. He moves to the back garden, plants saplings and shrubbery and buys fancy fertilisers that he doesn't really understand but he uses anyway. Sharla grows accustomed to coming home to the sight of Reyn with his hands in the earth, with soil staining his hands and the same leaky watering can at his side. The excuse of 'I'm bored' stopped working a long time ago - not that it ever worked in the first place, and (as he eventually admits to Sharla one night) he really enjoys it.

"What flowers did you plant?" She had asked, but Reyn had shaken his head. 

"It's a secret," He'd taken her hands in his as he spoke. "You'll have to wait and see." He pauses. "Actually, it'll be a surprise for me. I, uh, didn't really check what they were. I just bought a bunch at random, to be honest with you." 

"What if they don't grow?" Sharla had joked. 

"Oh, uh. Didn't think about that." A flash of genuine panic had crossed Reyn's face and he looked  _ genuinely _ concerned. Laughing, Sharla had leaned up to kiss him. 

"I'm joking. They'll be fine. They've got you looking after them, after all." 

Reyn had flushed bright red at that, opened his mouth as if to argue. He hadn't gotten to speak though, for Sharla silenced him with a kiss.

x

It's early spring when the flowers first begin to sprout; just tiny little green shoots beginning to appear from the dark soil. 

Reyn tends to them endlessly, the entire portion of their front lawn. He's added new bushes - azaleas, which should soon flower, rhododendrons like the ones he had had in his own back garden when he was younger, ("I'm going to make a tunnel with them," he'd told her. He didn't know  _ how _ he was going to do that, he'd later admitted, but he'd  _ probably _ figure it out) and some other greenery, tall grass at the front of their door, honeysuckle planted just underneath the windowsill, snaking up the bricks of their house. More seeds that he didn't bother to check the name of, some bulbs, some wildflowers. It was still barely spring, still too early for anything to really be in flower, but Sharla can remember what the colony looked like all those years ago. When it was reduced to rubble, reduced to nothing but ash and smoke and destruction.

Even now, the scars of that world stick in strong. The Colony is still surrounded by the Mechon-formed armour, the battlements that had been placed there to  _ ensure _ they would never return to their homes. Although the entire world had shifted and changed, there were still things that remained much of the same. 

Their own front garden had once been rubble, grass barely growing and life barely thriving. 

Now, it's waiting to explode with colour, waiting to explode with the flora that Reyn has nurtured with his own two hands. 

Sharla comes home every day, opens the little picket fence that Reyn had set up around their plot, the one that has snowdrops and daffodils snaking up a half-stoned path, and she smiles. 

And then, almost every day, as she steps into their half-formed wonderland, she will be greeted by Reyn, dirt under his fingernails and the leaky watering can in his hand. Of course, he is not  _ always _ there; for both of their jobs can have unpredictable timetables, both of their schedules are never set in stone but, for the most part, Reyn is there when she returns. 

Today, however, it is not quite the same. She gets home much earlier than usual today, for the plague of winter chills is beginning to come to an end, and sickness is beginning to fade once more. With spring's arrival, she should have more free time on her hands. More time (she hopes) to spend with Reyn, with her family, with Shulk and Fiora and Riki and Melia and Dunban. Perhaps, once this garden has blossomed, they can invite them all round. It's been a while since they were last together, all of them, perhaps they can organise something. 

She can hear Reyn talking somewhere around the back - for his voice is always loud, something that will  _ never  _ change about him. She can't quite make out what he's saying, although the words she catches are nonsensical, they don't make any sense. Which, if she's being honest, isn't that much of a rarity. Reyn hasn't lost his habit of just  _ saying _ things, simply because the thought crossed his mind. 

He obviously doesn't realise she's home just yet, and Sharla doesn't want him to.

She wants to  _ see _ what he's doing.

Carefully, quiet as a mouse, she sneaks around to their back garden. 

And there he is, stood by the kitchen window, talking to the air. 

_ He's gone insane, _ Sharla thinks, watching him animatedly talk and gesture - as if he were speaking to her or Shulk or Fiora or  _ an actual living being  _ \- but there's absolutely nobody to be seen. 

And then he moves, ever so slightly, and Sharla can't stop the laugh that bursts forth from within. 

For now that he's moved, Sharla can see the proud little sprouts of a rosebush. 

_ He's talking to the flowers.  _

Reyn almost jumps out of his skin at the sound, whipping round to face Sharla with mortified eyes. "Oh, uh, Sharla… I didn't think you'd be back so early, uh, how're y-"

"Were you talking to the rosebush?" Sharla asks and Reyn's face flushes an impossible red, almost purple shade. 

"I- uh, it's… no, I mean… uh, yeah I was." 

Sharla looks at him and she  _ giggles. _

"Yeah, it's a bit weird probably. I mean- Fiora told me it would help 'em grow better, although I feel a bit stupid doin' it." 

"Fiora told you they'd  _ grow better?" _

Sharla has the  _ slightest _ theory that Fiora had been joking with that one. 

"Yeah. An' I don't know enough about science an' stuff to say if that's wrong or not. Does… does that not work?"

Sharla doesn't want to  _ lie _ to him, because she really doubts that talking to flowers does  _ anything _ at all, let alone helps them grow; but… in all honesty, watching Reyn,  _ Reyn _ of all people, crouch down, with his large hands gentle and his eyes soft and warm like honey, talking to the tiny little rosebush about his day- well, maybe Sharla wants to come home early again. Maybe Sharla doesn't want him to  _ stop _ doing that, because - for lack of a better word - it's incredibly…  _ cute. _

So she doesn't lie, she just… avoids the question. 

"It can't hurt to try," she responds, and Reyn breaks out into a grin.

"See! That's exactly what I said!" 

He straightens up to his full height, sweeping Sharla off of her feet in a bone-crushing hug. 

She yelps in surprise, but leans into the embrace, wrapping her own arms around him. He leans back, stealing a quick kiss before he puts her down once more. Her hands linger on his biceps, her eyes still trained on his. 

"I love you," he says, his hand rising to touch her cheek. "I missed you." 

She laughs at that. "I was only at work." 

"I know." He looks down at her and Sharla's heart melts. 

"I love you too." His hands are dirty, half-wet soil lingering on his thumb that he  _ definitely _ smears on his cheeks, for he suddenly looks surprised, then sheepish. Sharla's prepared though, for she bends down to one of the lower flowerbeds, getting her own handful of dirt. 

Reyn laughs, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender.

He yells as Sharla lobs it at him, but not before he grabs his own handful, throwing it back at her. 

x

Spring arrives in a few weeks and seemingly overnight their front garden explodes in colour. She comes home late one night, when the sun has already begun to set and dusk is beginning to deepen the sky.

Both their front and back garden is decorated in the twinkle of flowers like stars in the night sky, of crocuses hiding beneath the layered petals of large dahlias. The forget-me-nots little specks of blue beneath swathes of pink and orange. Pansies and primroses bloom between the cracks of their stone paths, coralroot petals deep fuschia amongst the flowerbeds. 

While much of the surrounding nature of Colony 6 is well-trimmed and organised, their garden is like an explosion of colour. In a way, it reminds Sharla of Makna Forest, that feeling of deep wilderness, of unexpected colours and hidden petals, sneaking just outside of view. The honeysuckle has grown, creeping halfway up the house now; it's orange blossom petals just a whisper of colour against the dark bricks. The rhododendron too, blossoming in a spectrum of colour, from neon pink to blinding white to deep lilac and fiery orange. Their roots make the ground uneven, snaking up and down the path like some hidden passageway, decorated with the twinkling of lily-of-the-valley, specks of white in deep-dark green.

Their back garden is, perhaps, even more magical. It is less tame, even more wild, than the front; and the ether lamps that Reyn had bought a few weeks ago glow bright in the gloom. He has hung them up high in the trees, the end result almost ethereal. "You said you missed Satorl Marsh," he'd said to her as he hung them up, and Sharla had stopped in her tracks. She  _ had _ said that, in passing, a few days ago. And Reyn, always surprising her, had obviously taken that to heart.

She gets home, slips around the side of the house and makes her way through the back. Reyn is there, in the garden, his watering can (still leaking slightly) held in his hand. 

His back is to her, he doesn't seem to realise she's there, and she watches him for a moment.

She looks over the strong line of his back, sees the dirt on his bare arms, the spring in his step as he moves from flowerbed to flowerbed, his voice (for once) low and quiet as he murmurs anything and everything to the blossoms of vibrant petals. 

Sharla loves him. She loves him more than anything else in this world. 

She still worries about him too much, still has her nightmares and still has the thoughts that will not leave her alone. She is not 'perfect', she is not 'better', but here - watching Reyn with the first rays of moonlight reflect off of his skin, with the tarnished watering can that  _ still _ leaks because he's too stubborn to buy a new one, sees his hands and the brightness that glows from him; even brighter than the glow of ether lamps, Sharla thinks that it doesn't really matter that she's not 'better'. It doesn't matter that she has good days and bad days and days even worse than that.

All that matters is that she is happy. And she  _ is. _ She's so happy. 

So she approaches him, wraps her arms around him from behind. He stiffens, for the briefest of moments, before he realises who it is. "Sharla," he breathes and she does not miss the way he relaxes against her. 

She loosens her hold, just enough that he can turn to face her. She brings him close, stands on the very tips of her toes, him leaning down, until their noses are almost touching. 

"You make me so happy Reyn," she whispers. 

The ether lamps glow around them, the vibrant colours of flowers enveloping them in spectrum light. It's beautiful, but it melts away around her. Melts away until it's just her and Reyn. 

They could be anywhere, she thinks. Anywhere at all, and she wouldn't be any less happy. 

Perfection doesn't exist, not really; but this is close. She thinks that as her eyes flutter close, as their lips meet and, just like the colours around them, they meld into one. 

**Author's Note:**

> i will set this ship sailing by myself if i have to.


End file.
